It's Always Darkest Before the Dawn
by We-All-Have-Scars
Summary: After the Sadie Hawkins's incident and Kurt trying to commit suicide, the two meet in a psychiatric ward, and will journey through their trials, recovery, and ultimately, their love story.
1. Chapter 1

**BLAINE**

Blaine slowly began to stir, feeling his body propelled forward in what seemed to be a wheelchair. Suddenly the putrid smell of sterilizer and sickness burned his nostrils, causing him to gag slightly. Opening his eyes, he saw the blurred images of scrubs and endless rooms rush past him. Looking down, his wrists were bound and bandaged tightly with layers of gauze. His brain wracked dazedly as he tried to place all this newfound information together. Then, as if he'd been doused in cold water, the memories surged back to him, when all he now desperately wanted was for them to go as far away as possible.

"_I told you fags to stop spreading your fairy dust around here," Josh yelled, slamming Blaine up against the outer edge of the gymnasium. Blaine yelped at the sudden pain in his lower back, his temper flaring up rapidly. Narrowing his eyes into slits, he hissed, "Go to hell," and spit in the senior's face._

_Fist by fist, punch after punch, and Blaine was knocked to the ground, cowering in a corner. His lip was busted open and he had a black eye, but by the sound of it, his injuries were nothing compared to the pure agony his date Eric was currently enduring. _

_Sinking rapidly into unconsciousness, the next thing he remembered was waking up in his bedroom, and hearing the screaming match between his father and brother the next room over. _

"_Cooper, if he wasn't the way he is, he'd never have been put through that!"_

"_It's not like it's his choice, dad!" Cooper screamed, slamming his fist on the kitchen counter. "Honestly, you think he wants to be treated like this? You think he wants to be thrown around, and watch his best friend getting the living shit beaten out of him? It wasn't a decision he made, and his feelings sure as hell aren't temporary!"_

"_I. DON'T. CARE. WHAT. YOU. SAY," his father hissed, roundly about on his oldest son. "Think of the whispers and the rumors that'll come out of this! Think of how this will taint the family name! I never bargained to have a queer for a son!"_

_A dead, eerie silence settled between the two. Cooper slowly shook his head, eyes brimming with tears. "So this is what it's all about," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "This is why you're so upset. You're too damn focused on your pride to even care that your son, who feels nothing but respect for you, endured that beating? You only care that people will hear the reason why he was attacked." _

_Mr. Anderson rubbed his face exhaustedly, not even bothering to meet his son's insistent gaze. "He has a disease, Cooper. And as long as he's under my roof, I sure as hell won't tolerate it."_

_Cooper backed away, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You disgust me," he spat out, turning on his heel and walking down the stairs and straight out the door._

_Blaine shuddered, gasping as the tears began escalating down his face. The words kept replaying themselves in his head… 'fag, queer, diseased…'_

_He slid down the frame of his door, wrapping his arms around his body as he sobbed brokenly. Glancing up, he saw the light shimmering out from underneath the bathroom door. A few seconds later, he was under the bright, fluorescent lights and caught sight of his reflection. His normally bright, hazel eyes were dulled and bloodshot, and he was deathly pale. _

_Finally, he took in the sight of his frail arms, and the pale blue veins popping out under the thin layer of skin. He noticed the way it flexed and protruded out, and was entranced by it. 'Imagine what it would look like seeping with blood…' he thought. Suddenly, without even thinking, he grabbed the razor off the bath and began slicing away, gasping audibly at the searing pain. Every word, every punch, all the pain-it all amounted to this. This boiling point. "They'll never hurt me again," he whispered, dropping the razor and slipping onto the floor, drenched in his blood. His eyes closed, and he dreamed of eternal sleep._

Blaine shook his head, pleading to any deity above to make the pain go away. Suddenly, he was forcibly stilled, his brother's whispers seeking his attention. "Blaine, come on," Cooper said, his voice rough from a combination of crying and lack of sleep. "Come on kiddo, we're at your room number."

Blaine whimpered, finally piecing together exactly where he was. The area was too quiet, too "calm" to even dare put him at ease. Before he was wheeled into room 315, he caught sight of the heading sign out in the hallway: St. Ann's Psychiatric Ward

**Kurt**

Never in his entire life had he seen such a commotion. The sirens of the ambulances shrilled as the medical team rushed him to the nearest hospital, a toxic pump already shoved down his throat. Carole and Burt were upfront with the drivers, as the back was far too cramped and he was in too critical of a condition. He'd never seen his father openly sob like that, or Finn look so incredibly terrified.

But all this came and passed, and nothing registered. He had no account of why he was being sped to a hospital, no knowledge of why his body was being drained of potential toxins. It was as if he were in a dazed stupor, and as much poking and prodding others did, his conscience refused to resurface.

All at once, loud voices began discussing the new route to their destination, as it had been decided Kurt would need to be transferred in order to receive better medical attention. Just a little over a half hour later and the ambulance pulled into the St. Ann's Hospital emergency parking lot. Kurt felt his body being lifted on the stretcher and pushed as quickly into the building as deemed physically possible.

There was absolutely no waiting whatsoever. With an urgent nod from the receptionist, the medics surged into the critical condition center, and began thoroughly pumping the toxins out of his bloodstream and stomach. It was painful to put it in the lightest of terms, and within seconds Kurt passed out, the events of the day far too much to endure.

A few hours later, he finally awoke from his sleep groggily. His eyes blinked open slowly and there emerged his father and Carole, watery smiles tugging gently at their lips. Kurt returned one in a moment, still confused as to what was going on. So confused, in fact, he barely registered the hospital room he'd been moved to, or the sleeping teenager in the bed opposite his.

"Whaa…Where am I?" he slurred, still thoroughly confused.

"You're in the hospital," Carole whispered, pushing his bangs out of his eyes as tears tracked down her own.

"But…Why?"

Burt and Carole shared a look, one that, if Kurt was in his normal state, he would of noticed immediately. Finally, Burt sighed and rubbed his jaw. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he turned and looked his son straight in the eye. "Kurt….Son…You tried to ki-kill yourself."

It was as if time had stopped, and his breath was sucked straight out of him. His mind was awhirl, possibly trying to come up with excuses that he'd heard his father wrong. But deep down, a quiet yet insistent voice, told Kurt he shouldn't be surprised. After all, it made sense.

He'd been thrown into lockers and dumpsters. He'd practically been outed by a fellow Glee club member. His previous crush had basically referred to him as a 'fag', and cringed at the thought of sharing a bedroom. He was, is, and, in his mind, would always be nothing.

Even with the tears pooling in his eyes, he looked up, pleading his dad to forgive him. Begging him with all his might that he was somewhat worthy of his love. But whether his father simply didn't or chose not to look, he didn't know. But his father stood and stepped away from the bed. Turning around, he finally looked at his broken son, his cheeks stained by his prolonged tears. Finally, mumbling to Kurt just above a whisper, he said, "I already lost Elizabeth. I refuse to lose you as well."

A strangled sob emitted from Kurt's throat, and he couldn't help the sobs that began. Leaning down, Burt placed a gentle kiss on his son's forehead, and then he and Carole left.

And with them, a part of Kurt left as well.

Just as Kurt began to allow himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep, a loud noise startled him nearly out of bed. He jumped, turning and seeking out the source. A head of messy curls shifted up and looked his way, an apologetic smile on his lips. "Sorry," he mumbled, his hazel eyes flicking between his hands and Kurt. "My uh…My book dropped."

Slowing his breathing, Kurt sighed, running a finger through his hair. "It's alright," he replied, not entirely paying attention to the other's apology but more-so the boy himself. He was the absolute definition of _gorgeous. _Silky, dark curls, mesmerizing eyes, and a slim yet toned body defined his physical features. There was something about him though that was all too similar. There was an underlying brokenness to him that Kurt related to far more than he was comfortable with.

Blaine began to chuckle softly, catching Kurt's attention. He then came to the realization that during his analysis of the other, he'd been blatantly staring. Kurt turned a deep shade of maroon, which only make the other laugh even more.

"I believe introductions are in order," Blaine said, the faintest hint of a smirk still gracing his lips. Holding out his hand, he said, "My name's Blaine."

Unconsciously, Kurt stared dubiously, not sure whether or not to trust the boy. However, the slightly nervous, slightly hopeful look in Blaine's eyes was enough conviction. Taking the other's hand, Kurt smiled sheepishly and responded, "Kurt."


	2. Chapter 2

**BLAINE**

The morning sunlight trickled through the pale curtains, emitting warmth and radiance unlike Blaine was used to. The sweet bliss trailed over his body, gently prodding and waking him from his stupor. Blinking slowly, his eyes readjusted to the brilliant light, and he couldn't help but blatantly stare at the sight in front of him.

Curled up on the windowsill with his hands gingerly wrapped around a mug, Kurt stared out the pane, a look filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. The sight tore at Blaine's heart, who related far too well to the melancholy of the former's current predicament. He couldn't imagine how or why the other was in this room, a prisoner confined to these four walls. But the bittersweet look in Kurt's eyes confirmed that there was far more to the story, likely more than Blaine would ever get the chance to hear. And, for some apparent reason, that bothered him more than just about anything else.

"You can talk, you know. I don't bite," Kurt said, startling Blaine entirely. The sudden noise caused Blaine to jump, his knee knocking a few of his belongings off his bedside table. Cursing quietly at the throbbing pain in his leg, he stooped down to retrieve the items.

Smiling in spite of himself, Kurt said, "Here, let me," and reached down, picking up an aged leather notebook. Blaine's heart skipped a beat, and without thinking he reached forward and tugged it out of the other's grasp. Kurt's eyes widened in surprise, but said nothing. Yet, his eyes betrayed his shock, and he quickly shrugged back on his guard, turning instead to resume his position on the window seat.

Realizing his mistake, Blaine made a mental note to kick himself later for his stupidity. Taking a step uncertainly toward Kurt he stopped right behind him, steadying himself. "Hey," he said, resting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. What he was prepared for was to explain his previous action. He wasn't, however, prepared for Kurt lashing out, turning around and pinning him to the wall. Blaine gasped audibly as he felt his back slam up against the solid wood. The look in Kurt's eyes was wild, a mixture of fear and anger. Breathing heavily, Kurt glared daggers at Blaine, daring him to make another move. Slowly, he began to ease his grip, hissing "Don't touch me. Ever."

Blaine nodded vigorously, his own heart beating a mile a minute. Freed from Kurt's grasp, he stood frozen, not daring to move an inch. "Kurt-Kurt, I'm sorry".

"Look Blaine, forget it!" Kurt yelled, whipping around and pointing at the boy. "You heard what I said, and I mean it. I don't want you to ever touch me again. Okay?"

Fighting against the hot tears brimming (and why was he even crying?), he nodded, settling back in bed.

The minutes dragged along, nothing but the quiet hum of the radiator heard in the room. Sighing, Blaine reached for the notebook. Uncapping a pen, he began to scribble, only occasionally glancing up to look at Kurt.

About fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and a nurse stepped in, a tentative smile greeting the two. "I just came to check on the two of you, and to remind you that the rec center is open today." She noticed the rigid composure the two boys wore and sighed. "I'm not trying to push either of you to do anything you wouldn't like…but perhaps it'd be a nice break. Meet some new people. Have some fun. There's games, and a tv, and a piano….Just let me know if you're interested."

"Thank you-Maria," Blaine said, craning his neck to read her nametag. "I'll keep it in mind."

**KURT**

After a few more awkward minutes and a glare from Kurt here and there since the nurse left, Blaine mumbled incoherently about seeing if the piano was free, hopping off the bed and heading out the door. The slam shook the bed frame, once more knocking the notebook off the table. Shaking his head in exasperation, Kurt buried his head between his knees, not surprised when the tears began trailing down his cheeks.

He knew he shouldn't have snapped earlier, and knew that any explanation would make him sound even more bizarre. What could he say? That the last time someone had grabbed him, it'd only ended in dumpster tosses and beatings? No. He couldn't do it. He couldn't willingly bring himself to explain that to anyone, no less than another teenage boy he hardly knew.

So why did it bother him so badly? Why did he feel even emptier now that Blaine was gone? Regardless of what, it was as if a whole had been punched through his chest, winding him. Gasping, he struggled to gain his composure. He couldn't allow himself to break down, especially now, where everyone was acutely aware of how unstable he was to begin with. He had to be strong, even if it meant faking it. The saner he appeared, the quicker he could get out.

But when he'd get out, where would he go? It was the moments like these, where Kurt so desperately wished he could escape his life. He yearned for nothing more than to jump out of his own life, out of his own skin.

Cracking open the window, he relished in the cool air that fanned his face, the sweet scent of freedom that he'd been deprived off for too long. With it came an unusual sense of peace, a calming presence. Trudging back and climbing into bed, he nuzzled his face into his pillow and dozed off into a more secure sleep, filled with dreams of his mother and childhood simplicity and delicate hands gracing piano keys. And, in the privacy of his visions, he smiled slightly, the tearstains beginning to fade.

The breeze coursing through the room ruffled the pages of Blaine's notebook on the floor. Flickering through a couple times, the book opened up to a fresh entry from that morning. In careful script, it read;

5-17-10

I woke up today, and I was convinced I was in heaven. I'm not sure I necessarily believe in one, but I'm positive an angel had visited me. He had eyes as blue as the sea and a smile that acted as a beacon of light, guiding me from the bleakness of reality. Maybe there isn't a Heaven. But...with someone as magnificent as him…I'd like to believe there is. I dunno why he's here, trapped behind these prison walls. And, after his outburst today, perhaps it's far worse than I could have feared. And yet, I want to know. I want to help him, even in the most trivial way possible. There's something about him, something I need. Maybe it's just his beauty. Maybe it's so much more than that. All I know is that I want to know every shadowy corner and nook and cranny that completes Kurt. It terrifies me that I care so deeply over someone I've not even known a whole day. And I'm scared…so scared. But somehow, I believe that life would be far more frightening if I didn't meet him.

I just…I want him. Not in any sexual pretense or innuendo. I just want to see him and touch him and know that he's real, not just a figment of a wild imagination.

I need him to be real.

-Blaine


End file.
